


let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!

by NahaFlowers



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Anal Fingering, Fluff, James in Thomas's long sleeves, M/M, Snowball Fight, Thomas has a better use for his father's ugly wig, a very brief little bit of smut because James has a filthy mind, including - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 22:51:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11861274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NahaFlowers/pseuds/NahaFlowers
Summary: It's snowing outside and Thomas wants to go out and play in the snow, despite it being the dead of night. James's protests are feeble at best - he can't deny this man anything. Just cute fluff. Written forpenflickson Tumblr.





	let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!

**Author's Note:**

> Just lots of cute fluff. God, I can't wait for autumn/winter.

James only awakes when the chill in the usually warm bed becomes too difficult to sleep through. He sleepily wonders why it’s so cold for a minute – Thomas’s bed is usually very warm and cosy, even in winter, and especially compared to James’s own bed. Then, burrowing into the bed and trying to find some non-existent warmth, he realises why – Thomas is not in bed next to him. His eyes snap open immediately and he forces himself into a sitting position. To his relief, Thomas is still in the room – he is sitting by the window, curtain open, shivering in just his nightshirt, but apparently enthralled by the snow falling outside in big, soft flakes.

“Thomas,” says James, voice throaty from lack of use, “come back to bed.”

Thomas turns away from the window, somewhat reluctantly, to look at James, his eyes sparkling. “James, it’s snowing!” he says, a childish glee suffusing his features along with the pinkness of his cold cheeks.

James gives him an indulgent smile. “It’s bloody freezing, is what it is. You’re shivering. Come back to bed.” He tries to make his voice seductive – it might work. Thomas’s eyes narrow and his pupils get darker. But –

“No,” he says stubbornly. “I want to go out in it.”

“Now?” asks James. “It’ll still be there tomorrow. It’s so _cold_ , Thomas,” he wheedles.

Thomas walks to the bed and climbs on top of James, kissing him. James moans as he sinks into the sensation of Thomas’s warm body on top of him.

“We’ll wrap up warm,” Thomas whispers in his ear, nipping at it playfully, knowing full well how much that turns him on. “Please?” he says, widening his eyes innocently and pouting. How can he possibly resist that look?

“Fine,” says James, sighing. “Although I may have to borrow a few layers, I’m not going out in just my uniform, not on a night like this.”

“Right you are,” says Thomas, delighted, and leans forward to give James a kiss on the forehead, before darting to the wardrobe and haphazardly pulling out clothes in his excitement. James watches him with a soft look in his eyes, wondering how it’s possible to be so in love.

Eventually, with much shivering and cursing and complaining (from James; Thomas just laughs delightedly) they are dressed, Thomas pressing an extra jumper over James’s head, and James, in turn, pulling another over Thomas’s – he has not yet forgotten the sight of Thomas shivering in the window, and will not let him go cold on any account.

Thomas’s jumpers mostly fit James – he is a little broader round the shoulders, but the stretch is not too bad. It is the arms where Thomas’s jumpers appear ridiculous on James’s body. Thomas’s arms, like his fingers, are very long, and James finds himself clutching the sleeves in his hands. Ridiculous though he may look, he doesn’t mind terribly – he finds the long sleeves comforting, and at least this way he won’t need gloves.

He thinks of Thomas’s fingers again, and suppresses a shiver of pleasure as he feels the gap Thomas left when breaching him earlier, feels it like a physical thing, as if Thomas’s fingers are still there, pushing in and out, crooking and extending to brush against that little bundle of nerves that makes James arch up and cry out with abandon. Sometimes James likes having Thomas’s fingers inside him even more than he likes having his cock, although it sometimes leads to him being turned on by the strangest and most innocent of things – Thomas’s finger wrapped around pen or fork, or fumbling to remove his rings, or nimbly undoing the buttons on James’s coat.

He’s so lost in the memory of Thomas’s fingers that he doesn’t notice the man himself has crept up on him until he kisses his neck and whispers in his ear, “Are you ready, my love?”

James startles, and then smiles, embarrassed. Thomas takes his chin in his hand and turns his chin in his hand and turns James’s head so he can kiss his lips.

“You look adorable darling. All wrapped up and warm.”

James narrows his eyes, although he’s smirking a bit. “I don’t look ridiculous?”

Thomas grins. “Well, a little. But so do I!” He gestures down at himself. He is indeed bundled up in layers and looking somewhat chunkier than usual, although at least all his clothes fit him. “Anyway, we’re about to look even more ridiculous.”

“Why?” said James, suspiciously, following him out of the room and down the stairs, until they are in the bathroom off the kitchen.

Thomas opens a cupboard. “Hats!” he exclaims in delight, picking out a particularly hideous knitted creation and jamming it on James’s head. James puts up with it without complaint.

“And scarves,” he adds, wrapping a dark green one around James’s neck. “It matches your eyes,” says Thomas happily.

James rolls his eyes, though he’s smiling. “What exactly are we planning to do out in the snow, Thomas?” James asks, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

Thomas frowns. “What do people do when it snows?” he says thoughtfully to himself.

“Rush inside, usually,” says James amused.

Thomas casts him a glare, and James looks suitably chastened.

“I know!” says Thomas, excitedly. “We can build a snowman!”

James grins. “All right, my love,” he says, kissing Thomas on the nose, which is one of the only parts of him that isn’t wrapped in a scarf or covered by a hat. “In that case, we’ll need a carrot. And lumps of coal for the eyes and mouth.”

Thomas nods and they go to the kitchen to search for the items. Then they trek outside and start rolling balls of snow, for the body and the head.

“Is this big enough?” Thomas pants, gesturing at the smallish ball he’s managed to roll.

James eyes it critically. “Maybe for the head,” he says, and Thomas looks crestfallen. “Look, if we’re going to do this, we have to do it properly.”

Thomas grins. “Of course we do, my love,” he says, and carries on rolling.

Eventually, James deems the balls big enough to be stacked on top of one another. He decides to roll another smaller one for the head, and Thomas rushes inside to get an extra scarf and hat for their snowman. Instead, though, he comes back after nearly ten minutes, sniggering, with a wig as well as the promised scarf.

“It’s my father’s,” Thomas explains to James’s raised eyebrows. “I thought we could put it to better use.”

James snickers. “Go on then, love,” he says with a great measure of affection, and gestures to the snowman, who already has his coal eyes and mouth and his carrot nose, as well as a couple of twigs for arms.

Thomas wraps the scarf around the snowman’s neck and then places the wig on its head, drawing a pair of angry eyebrows in the snow above its eyes for good measure. He stands back to admire their hard work.

“Scary,” James comments.

“Terrifying,” Thomas agrees, but he’s laughing. James joins in too, and suddenly they can’t stop, clutching stitches in their sides.

The door opens and they both look up sharply.

“What’s going on out here?” It’s Miranda’s voice, and they breath identical sighs of relief. Miranda trots out into the garden to see what they’re looking at. She lets out a somewhere between a gasp and a laugh when she sees the bewigged snowman.

“Oh, you two,” she says, looking at the shit-eating grins plastered across their faces. “Honestly!” she says, but her eyes are twinkling. “Why didn’t you tell me what you were doing? Now I’ve missed all the fun!” Miranda pouts at them.

“I’m sorry, my love, I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“You woke _me_ up!” says James, indignantly.

“I thought you woke up of your own accord?” asks Thomas, confused.

“I woke up because you weren’t in bed beside me,” James explains.

Miranda and Thomas both look at him a little too knowingly. James feels himself blushing.

“I was cold!” he protests. Thomas’s lips quirk up in a smile. “Anyway, Miranda,” James says, clearing his throat. “I don’t think you missed all the fun.” He bends down and balls some snow in his hands. “Thomas, I’ve thought of another thing we can do in the snow.”

“What-” He turns around, and sees the snowball in James’s hand, and James smirking. “James, don’t you dare throw that snowball- _goddammit, James_!” exclaims Thomas as the snow ball hits the side of his face. He shakes himself off, laughter lighting up his eyes. “Right, you’re in for it!” he says, bending down to collect a snowball for himself, but James is too quick for him – he throws one a his back before running to hide behind the snowman.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t account for Miranda, who sneaks up behind him and smushes a snowball right on the top of his head, soaking through his hat into his hair, before Thomas gets a shot on target and hits his chest.

“You’re ganging up on me!” James exclaims, indignant and exhilarated all at once.

“Yes, but – you love it,” says Thomas, stepping in to kiss him and using his momentary distraction to shove a snow ball down the back of his neck.

“Thomas!” James cries, shivering violently, and bending down to make a snowball as Thomas darts away, grinning.

Eventually, they all collapse, shivering and laughing, in the servants’ hall, where James sets and lights the fire. They strip off their wet outer layers and sink into the wooden chairs gratefully.

“I’ll make some tea,” says Miranda after a while. James and Thomas just nod and smile sleepily, holding hands and leaning into each other from their respective chairs.

“I love you,” whispers Thomas into James’s hair, and James feels his stomach bubble pleasantly and his heart burst with love. He strokes Thomas’s thumb and then brings it to his lips in answer.

“You know, I’ve never really played in the snow before,” says James thoughtfully.

Thomas pulls away from him to look at him in shock, James’s head falling from his shoulder in the process. “What, never?”

James looks amused. “I grew up in Cornwall. A snowfall was nothing short of a miracle. And then I was in the navy, and – well, frolicking in the snow was hardly considered proper.”

Thomas nods in understanding before kissing his hand.

James smiles and rests his head on Thomas’s shoulder again. “I’m glad my first time was with you,” he says sleepily, and Thomas suspects that he is not only talking about playing in the snow.

By the time Miranda comes back with the tea, James is fast asleep on Thomas’s shoulder. Thomas can’t bear to wake him, so he gathers James up in his arms and carries him up to bed. At one point, James blinks up at him blearily, confused, but Thomas just kisses him on the forehead and says, “Go back to sleep, darling.” Thomas is sure that were he any less tired, James would have protested at being carried to bed like a boy, but when Thomas finally lays him down on their bed and tucks him in, James doesn’t stir.

Miranda closes the door behind her, setting the tea tray down on Thomas’s bedside table.

“Thank you,” says Thomas, and pours them both a cup, picking his up and sipping it slowly. He and Miranda share a secret smile.

Thomas looks over at James, and to Miranda he looks like – the opposite of lost. Like he’s been found. “You really love him, don’t you,” says Miranda softly.

Thomas looks back at Miranda and his expression is open and soft and vulnerable in a way he doesn’t allow himself to be very often. “Miranda,” he says quietly, but in a voice full of the sincerity and conviction for which she loves him so much, “that man is the love of my life.”

James smiles in his sleep, as if he’s heard them, and Thomas’s expression softens even further. He shuffles into bed and curls up beside the love of his life, pulling the cover back for Miranda so she can crawl in as well, and share their warmth. They fall asleep there, fully clothed, wet from snow, and content as any three people could possibly be.

 

 

 


End file.
